Dalhousie, Sri Lanka
by Helen Moat
The mountain rises out of the rainforest an emerald pyramid. I look at its sheer vertical flanks that stretch upwards on and on until they puncture the sky high above and I wonder: What have I let myself in for?
This is Sri Pada, also known as Adam’s Peak. It may not have the notoriety of Mount Everest (as the highest mountain in the world) or the elegant beauty of Mount Fuji, neither does its history go back as far as Mount Sinai’s, but it is the only mountain in the world to be venerated by four major world religions: by Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims and Christians.
Pilgrims come from all over the world to climb the steep-sided peak and to pay homage to the indentation of a giant footprint on its summit. To Buddhists, it is none other than that of Lord Buddha; to Hindus, Shiva’s and to Christians and Muslims alike it belongs to Adam.
I have been taken to this place by my Buddhist Sri Lankan hosts. Dimuthu, who I’d connected with through a British Council education programme, has arranged for me to climb the mountain, something I longed to do on discovering it way back in England.
Last night, Dimuthu’s uncle and his family had put me up in their Highland home, fed me, watered me, entertained me and arranged for a driver to negotiate the 5 hours of rough mountain roads. Dimuthu’s uncle is also accompanying me on the mountain along with Dimuthu, her father and her two cousins. Failing to climb the mountain is not an option, I realise.
All human life has come to this place across the centuries: rich and poor, kings and paupers, religious leaders and non-believers, young and old, strong and weak, sick and the well, disabled and able-bodied.
Sri Pada’s history goes back a long way. It is believed that King Valagambahu discovered the sacred footprint a hundred years before Jesus was born. The first recorded history goes back to 1065AD when King Vijayabahu built shelters along the way. The great monarchs of Sri Lanka’s ancient civilisation were ascending Sri Pada a thousand years ago but many believe that pilgrims were climbing Sri Pada long before any recorded history.
Marco Polo climbed the mountain in the fourteenth century. And some believe that Alexander the Great visited the sacred place too. Then of course there is Adam from the beginning of time, thrown out of paradise and made to serve penance on top of the peak; forced to stand upon one leg for a thousand years. That’ll teach him.
Back in the present, I’m standing at the foot of Adam’s Peak, dressed in cargo trousers, strong footwear and laden down with a rucksack packed with layers of clothing, waterproofs and first-aid. I have my walking sticks at the ready too. I step out with a serious walker’s stride.
My Sri Lankan friends, in contrast, are wearing flip-flops, the kind of smart casual clothes you might wear for a stroll down on the promenade, while carrying plastic bags of snacks – or nothing at all. They saunter off past stalls of garish souvenirs and teashops that could indeed grace any seafront. I wonder if my casual friends are really serious about making it to the top. My fears seem to be confirmed when they stop off for a splash in the river.
Later I realise that they were washing themselves in an act of purification before ascending the holy mountain.
At the entrance to the mountain we stop again. A Buddhist priest blesses us. For us first-timers (all but Dimuthu’s father) we are given a white cloth with a good-luck coin wrapped inside. Dimuthu’s father ties each wristband on our right arm. A red mark is placed upon our foreheads, giving us Saman’s protection, one of the four guardian deities of the mountain.
Soon we reach the steps. The climbing is relentless and my confident stride slows down to a painful crawl as I haul my unfit body up each one. Two teenage girls, taking pity on me, stop and offer me a handful of dried fruit. My Sri Lankan companions, in contrast, are just finding their stride. They take the steps casually with an easy stroll, seemingly oblivious to the steep elevation.
Occasionally Dimuthu’s 60 year old father halts to meditate on the wayside, eyes closed and palms held outward in quiet serenity. He seems untroubled by the endless staircase rising up in front of him. I, in contrast, stop frequently, feeling as if my lungs are going to burst. The Sri Lankans wait patiently as I push my unwilling body ever upwards. Amila, Dimuthu’s young cousin stays with me when I stop for breath, talking all the while to distract me from my discomfort. When I stop, he stops. When I move again, he moves alongside me. I am grateful.
At one point, Dimuthu’s father hands out rolls of string. We tie them to the bottom of a staircase, unrolling them until they run out. The wayside looks like a long white spider’s web. Overhead prayer flags flap in the breeze. Apparently string was used by pilgrims in the past so that they would not become lost if the mist came down. The steps become steeper and steeper. I have been in discomfort for hours now, but giving up is not an option. Indeed the very thought of giving up is considered unlucky in the Buddhist tradition.
Amila points out the iron studs in the rock. “Chains were attached to these before the steps were built and pilgrims had to pull themselves up. It was treacherous in wet weather. Many pilgrims fell to their death.”
I sense we are approaching the summit. At last the temple can be seen above my head. I can hear the Buddhist monks laughing in the cloud. Then I see their orange robes swirling in the mist. No chanting though – they’re pouring tea from a large canister, chatting and joking together. Even Buddhist monks need to have time off. Five thousand steps later and I have reached the summit at 7,362 feet. I’m elated.
“Make a wish,” Amila says.
Dimuthu’s father rings the bell twice; the rest of us once: one peel is permitted for every ascent. The sound vibrates across the mountain top. I feel strangely emotional.
Going back down, there’s a very elderly lady climbing slowly up with her daughter. I ask how old she is. “Eighty-three,” her daughter says. “This is her sixty-fifth ascend.” Suddenly I feel rather pathetic.
There are not many pilgrims making their way up in the afternoon heat. Most pilgrims ascend Sri Pada after dark, arriving in time for sunrise. We pass just a handful of smiling, chanting pilgrims, echoing encouraging songs to each other and with us.
Amila teaches me to say, Theruwan saranai: may you be protected by the triple gem (of Lord Buddha, his teachings and his disciples) to the ascending pilgrims. They beam at the pale-faced westerner tripping over their language but thrilled with my attempts they answer back with a smile.
Seven and a half hours after departing Dalhousie, we stumble back into the village and our starting point. My legs are mash.
“You know,” Dimuthu says to me. “If your wish comes true, you have to climb Sri Pada again.” Now she tells me. I’m not sure now, I want my wish to come true. But I would not have missed out on climbing this sacred mountain. it’s an experience that will stay with me for a long time to come.
4-Day Essence of Sri Lanka Tour
If You Go Up Adam’s Peak:
♦ Where? The mountain is part of the Peak Wilderness area (a protected nature reserve) located in the southern Highlands of Sri Lanka. Most pilgrims and tourists choose the route that starts from the village of Dalhousie.
♦ How to get there? The best way to reach Dalhousie is to take the train to Hatton, followed by a tuk-tuk or taxi. The train journey from Colombo to Hatton is spectacularly beautiful. There are buses that go directly from Colombo, Kandy and Nuwara Eliya. Another option is to hire a car and driver – surprisingly good value for money.
♦ When? Most pilgrims and tourists visit Adam’s Peak/Sri Pada between poya day on the 1st December and the Vesak festival in May. Once the monsoon rains begin after that, the mountain can be treacherous, or at least unpleasant in the heavy rain. Most tourists choose to make the ascent after midnight, climbing the mountain in the darkness with the aid of the floodlit pathway. There are a number of good reasons for choosing to climb the mountain at night time: it is cooler, the lit pathway is very atmospheric and vibrant as most pilgrims ascend the path at this time. Once on top, if the skies are clear, you will be treated to a spectacular sunrise and incredible views. In clear conditions, a refraction of the mountain can be seen across the across the valley; a strange and wonderful phenomenon. The disadvantage of ascending the mountain before dawn may mean that you will be caught up in a queue at the top. If you make good time, you will have a very cold and uncomfortable wait at the time with the rest of heaving masses! Alternatively, head up the mountain after breakfast and miss all the crowds. You will have the path more or less to yourself – but you will miss the atmosphere and the sunrise.
♦ Preparation? Bring snacks and plenty of water. There are lots of kiosks on the way up but you will pay tourist prices for food and drink. Bring layers of clothes – particularly if you are making a night time descent. It will be chilly waiting on top for sunrise. Shoes with good grips are advisable; raincoats in case of rain. Walking sticks are a life-saver on the many steps. Training beforehand (unless you have a good level of fitness) is advisable.
About the author:
Helen Moat spent her childhood squished between siblings in her Dad’s Morris Minor, travelling the length and breadth of Ireland. She’s still wandering. Helen was runner-up in 2011 British Guild of Travel Writers Competition and was highly commended in the BBC Wildlife Travel Writing Competition this year. Her writing has been published in The Guardian, Telegraph and Wanderlust magazine as well as online. She blogs at: moathouse-moathouseblogspotcom.blogspot.co.uk
All photos are by Helen Moat:
Prayer Flags
View of the Peak
Web of Thread
Young Monks
Ringing the Bell
This monastery, founded in the 17th century, is among some 25 on Majuli Island, a long stretch of land in the broad Brahmaputra River in India’s remote northeastern state of Assam. It is home to 350 monks of the Vaishnivite sect, known for its commitment to social equality and brotherhood among differing castes and tribes. Our visit is one of the memorable shore excursions that my wife Annie and I enjoy during a 10-day small-ship cruise along a mighty stream that discharges more water than the Mississippi.
One of the subcontinent’s least-visited regions, Assam has great ethnic and cultural diversity. Joined to the rest of India by a narrow neck of land, its majority population is racially and historically closely linked to Burma. Several minority tribes derive from migrations out of the Himalayas to the north. Assam was founded in the 13 th century when the Ahom kings arrived from the Burma-China border area. Adopting Hinduism, they successfully resisted the islamic Mughal invaders, who conquered so much of India. One side trip is to an ornate Ahom royal sports pavillion and the ruins of an enormous palace.
We settle into a leisurely shipboard pace, gliding smoothly downstream with the current between scoured low shores and barren sand islands, miles-long stretches of fine silt deposits that give the water a milky look. The geography often resembles a moonscape, made all the stranger and more alien by the mists and morning fogs of the winter season.
Others eke out a living by harvesting swamp grass for thatch or animal fodder. Or by working under contract to the government river authority, building and repairing long, low structures made of woven bamboo and affixed to pilings in the shallows. These divert the river’s flow and create a deeper navigable channel. Like the seasonal fisherfolk, they live in crude, temporary encampments on the bleak sandbars.
In the courtyard of a temple devoted to Shiva, I kneel to receive the blessings of a holy man, who puts the red spot on my forehead and ties a coloured string around one wrist. We follow as devotees enter the dimly lit inner sanctum with offerings of food, money or marigold flowers. They chant a mantra as a priest blesses them with splashes of holy water.
An economic mainstay is tea cultivation, Assam’s most notable export. We see extensive plantations, row on row of the little shrubs, and enjoy lunch at a magnificent tea estate owned by the same family for more than a century. Another specialty is silk production and weaving. In the courtyard of a cottage-industry workshop, three women squat on the ground. One turns a crank, while the others, with dexterous fingers, coax filaments of naturally golden, and exceptionally rare, muga silk off silkworm cocoons that float in a pot of water. The resulting thread is then used by highly skilled weavers at hand-and-foot operated looms to create gorgeous fabrics with intricate patterns. Mahatma Gandhi once said that Assamese women “weave dreams in muga silk.” The prices for shawls and tailored garments are embarrassingly modest.
Two half-day excursions into rugged Kaziranga National Park offer some of the world’s richest and most rewarding wildlife-viewing. We ride on the back of an elephant to get up close and personal with some of the park’s 2000 huge one-horned rhinos, as well as water buffalo and swamp deer. We bounce along jungle trails in an open jeep to train our binoculars and cameras on ospreys, eagles and storks. Agile langur monkeys leap through vast banyan trees festooned with orchids, while mynah birds flit about.
The river is so shallow that Charaidew runs aground repeatedly. A government navigation boat leads us through the sinuous and shifting main channel. On one grounding, however, we hit so hard that a rudder is damaged and will need to be removed and repaired in a shipyard. With apologies, our voyage must be cut short.
About the author:
or directly from koppel@saltspring.com (signed and dedicated)
During our deluxe small-ship cruise, passengers gain a wealth of insights into the religious, historical and cultural world of the subcontinent’s largely rural and small-town heartland. Many of the encounters could never be had on a land-based group tour. It is the ideal way to experience the rich tapestry of life along the central artery of northern India.
At a major Sikh temple, we remove our shoes, cover our heads and join the congregation while an elder reads from the book of scriptures. Devotees bow, foreheads touching the floor, and leave offerings. Sikhs believe that nobody should go hungry. A communal kitchen is preparing breakfast for scores of local people. A cheerful team of women and men grill parathas to serve along with dal and chai (milky tea).
A young, bare-headed Jain woman in stylish contemporary clothing asks in impeccable English where we are from. She hands a friend her cell phone, eager to have her photo taken with a couple of visiting Canadians.
Hindu temples and other sacred sites, old and modern, are everywhere. At one hot spring, people bathe or simply sprinkle holy water on their heads. We become familiar with the many incarnations of Vishnu and other deities, such as Ganesha, with the elephant head, and Hanuman, the monkey god. Our daily outings also offer unique opportunities to mingle with villagers, rub shoulders with cattle auctioneers and shop for local crafts.
Winter low water enables a large population of nomadic peoples to eke out a riverside living in transient, seasonal encampments of thatched huts that have to be abandoned when the monsoon comes. We get to see this busy subsistence economy in its full and fascinating complexity.
Local passenger ferries crisscross the river from one crude landing spot to another, heavily laden with bicycles, goats, firewood and bundles of thatch. Adults wave as Sukapha sails by, and kids race along, shouting and trying to keep up. Where the bank is high enough, there are larger, flood-free permanent settlements. One Moslem village has an ornate mosque and a boatyard where dozens of large wooden vessels are pulled up for storage or repairs. Nearby, a game of cricket is being played.
The mystery, the hidden truths and the mystic, all of it put together defines Lucknow’s Bada Imambada. Bhool Bhulayah (a part of the Imambada) is a fascinating labyrinth built by Asaf-ud-Daula (Nawab of Lucknow) in the 17th century. It’s located in the old area of Lucknow. To begin with, it’s one of the most underrated historical sites in the world!
It is not a regular monument with exquisite beauty to appreciate – it is way ahead of that. From its walls, windows to the rooftop, everything has a story and purpose. Nothing is ordinary. As the name suggests, it’s a labyrinth, where you may get lost! Yes, it is true. There are four sets of identical staircases in four different directions to confuse you; however, one of them leads you to the top of the Imambada. Unless you are with a guide, you cannot figure out the right way on your own!
While the flag drew attention thanks to its colourful nature, it was something else, which intrigued me – the presence of a smaller flag bearing the same colours above it.
And so it remained for the next century and a half. In 1699, Raja Jai Singh II came to power at the death of his father. He was then just a 11 year old boy, but he came to be known as one of the most enlightened rulers of 18th century India. In addition to performing his duties as a warrior king, Raja Jai Singh also managed to find time to pursue his many interests, chief among which were mathematics and astronomy. He was regarded as a reputed astronomer, and he is most remembered for building the astronomical observatories known as ‘Jantar Mantars’. Above all, he was a farsighted ruler, who planned and built the beautiful city of Jaipur, which bears his name.
At the time Jai Singh came to power, the Mughal ruler at the helm of the Indian Empire was Aurangzeb. The young king so impressed the Emperor that he was awarded the title ‘Sawai’. The word literally means ‘one and a quarter’, and the title meant that the king was a quarter above everyone else. Raja Jai Singh was the first to be awarded this title, and his descendents were allowed to use the same. It was then that the flag of the Kachwahas gained the additional flag – a quarter the size of the original flag, showing the same pattern and colours, it flew above the flag, proclaiming that it was the flag of the Sawai Maharajas – a quarter greater!!
